


something new and forcibly pleasant

by grossferatu



Series: love is what keeps a family together [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Eventual) Necrophilia, (and gays), Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Vampires, Big Dicks, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, But it's there, Cis Elias Bouchard, Cis Peter Lukas, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deception, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Duhumanization, Eating Of Humans, Elias wins, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely mild plot, Fledglings, Fluff, Forced Sub Space, Found Family, Gay Sex, Incest, It's not cannibalism if you're not human anymore, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Original Vampire Biology, Pet Names, Peter Lukas Has A Big Dick, Porn With Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Somnophilia, That's the canon part, Trans Jonathan Sims, Trans Male Character, Transformation, Vaginal Sex, Vampires, ask me about my incest vampire worldbuilding, blood transfusion, gaze, necrophagia, set after the first time Jon's with the circus, trans author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossferatu/pseuds/grossferatu
Summary: Elias is not in the habit of making new vampires, not after his first fledgling, Peter Lukas, made life so very difficult for James Wright.It turns out he was more possessive of Jon than he expected. Now, he has a newborn fledgling to feed, and three inhuman appetites (including his own) to sate.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas/James Wright
Series: love is what keeps a family together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745905
Comments: 27
Kudos: 69





	1. born again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alias (anafabula)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/gifts).



> The goal is at least 12k words of porn, folks, strap in and check all your orifices on the way.
> 
> Uses "cunt" and "cock/dick" for Jon's bits, and just "cock" for the cis guys. 
> 
> (alternate title: area man really likes having stuff shoved up his cunt, because GAZE)

James Wright had bought the larger house with Peter’s money and his hand on the small of Peter’s back.

“My son and I love it,” he’d told the nervous realtor, ignoring both Peter’s glare and the way his fledgling leaned into the touch, eager and avoiding the physical contact. “Thank you.” He smiled, his teeth just blunt enough the realtor assured itself that it was imagining something there.

Peter’s favorite room was the master bedroom, and he liked how unused many of the others were—the piano James never bothered to play, the room where he had installed the narcissistic portraits of his former selves, the shelves and shelves of well-cared-for books in the library—how the dust settled in his lungs when he breathed the still air.

He had his own bedroom that he never used, preferring to stay on the _Tundra_ or in his flat if James was not home. He had a bathroom he used only to admire the bruises on his throat and the odd sheen to his skin. James was particular. Every mirror was one they could be seen in, and sometimes Peter would see his sire watching him through his reflection and James would feel himself swell with something like pride.

It was just the two of them in that big, empty townhouse. Idle threats about siblings aside, first James, then Elias, never seemed terribly interested in turning anyone else, and was aggressively, violently jealous at the thought of Peter turning anyone in turn.

Peter expected to be angry when he entered the master bedroom to find Jonathan Sims laid out nude on the bed, a glass bottle dripping dark red fluid into his veins. Instead, unbidden and unwanted affection surged in his throat, and he felt sick at how beautiful he found his little brother.

He turned, without needing to check, to look where he knew Elias was watching.

“I had to make him mine,” Elias whispered. He shuddered, looking more distressed than Peter had seen his sire in a long time. “The Circus, they—” His eyes were flat and outraged as he looked up to meet Peter’s gaze. “He’s _mine_.”

“He still needs to be marked by the other powers,” Peter said. “Can you handle that?”

“Yes,” Elias said. His hands clenched on the arms of his chair. “As long as I can watch.” His gaze was fixed on Jon’s body. The violation was never the problem—it was the violation out of sight, where he could hear but never, ever _know_.

“How long are you making this last?” Peter asked.

“As long as I can,” Elias said. “I want him to wake up mine.” He smiled thinly. “You were too much for me.” It was a private joke that it was Peter who had caused James Wright’s demise with his enthusiasms.

Peter laughed and leaned his elbows on Elias’s shoulders. “You gave me all this stamina.”

Elias’s hand clenched tightly around Peter’s wrist. “He’s easy to watch over,” he said, nails digging into Peter’s skin. “I am very good at multitasking.” He prodded gently at Peter’s thoughts, feeling them slip into a familiar shape.

Peter whimpered. “Please,” he begged. “Not now.” He had things to do, damn his sire, even if he could not quite remember what they were. He had come to their home for a reason.

“Oh?” Elias chuckled as blood began to ooze slowly from where he’d cut Peter’s skin. “You need to help me make sure your little brother is fed.” He knew Peter had come here on Lonely business, but the rival god could wait. It was patient, even if its pets were not.

Peter shuddered as Elias let go of his wrist. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around the chair and Elias, his head now on his Sire’s thigh.

“Master…” Peter whined. “I had _things_ to do.” He pressed his nose against the bump in Elias’s trousers, mouthing idly in hopes of making his Sire’s cock hard enough to suck on.

“Mm,” Elias said, petting Peter’s hair. “I am sure. For now, get up, Jonny’s sure to be hungry.”

It had always, from the moment Peter reached his full height, delighted Elias how differently he held himself when he was like this. From the way the lines around his eyes softened to his shy expression to his downright adorable petulance, it all filled Elias with a mix of affection and violent need.

Peter yawned, showing now-pointed teeth. “He already has your blood inside you,” he said. “I don’t know why he’d need mine.” He obeyed when Elias dug his fingers into his scalp, whining in irritated pain.

Elias crossed his legs and leaned forward, staring unsubtly at Peter’s crotch. “I want you to fuck him,” he said. “And I want you to let him lap up that blood welling from your wrist.”

Peter looked at his arm, dragging a finger through the stream of red and bringing it to his mouth. “You got me a little brother with a cunt,” he said as he turned to look at Jon, breathless with delight. He kneeled next to Jon’s prone form, placing a broad hand on the inside of his skinny thigh. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. Elias watched his fingers creep upwards as his gaze swept down Jon’s body, taking in the sharp softness of him.

“Peter, behave.”

Peter’s fingers stopped, and though Elias couldn’t see his expression he could imagine the dramatic pout, the carefully rolled eyes. “You haven’t answered the question.”

Elias feigned thoughtfulness. He liked watching Peter squirm, knowing he was only half-hard and wouldn’t get any harder until Elias gave him further instructions. “I want you to use your cock. What else would his cunt be for?”

Peter whimpered, digging his fingers tight enough into the flesh of Jon’s thigh to bruise. Straddling Jon, he ground down between the unconscious man’s legs, shifting his hands to get a better grip. He was only half aware that he was clothed and grew more frustrated as he couldn’t find a good angle.

Elias chuckled. “Peter,” he said. “That’s not going to work.”

“But—” He looked over at Elias. “ _Sire_.”

Elias did not move. “I cannot help you—have you forgotten how your own cock works again?”

Peter huffed in annoyance. “No,” he said, pulling his cock from his trousers after a few moments of fumbling with the fly. Elias took a moment to admire it. One of the many reasons Peter had never been a candidate for his next body was he enjoyed looking at him far too much. His cock, thick and long and good for sitting on, was especially eye-catching.

“You have to grow your hair out again,” Elias mused. “I enjoy how it looks on you.”

Peter rolled his eyes and guided himself inside Jon, stopping to look over his shoulder at Elias. “He’s _tight_ ,” he said, annoyed again. “How am I supposed to fuck him.”

“You’re not going to hurt him too badly, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Elias said, ignoring Peter’s annoyed huff at the suggestion. “Just stretch him out. His body should take you easily, now. Just be careful about the tubing, it wouldn’t do to waste my blood.”

Peter grinned, forcing himself the rest of the way inside with a grunt.

Jon’s body shuddered as Peter’s cock filled it, letting out a cry of pain at the stretch. Peter stopped midway through pulling out, a frown creasing his face. “I thought he was sleeping.”

Elias uncrossed his legs, a concession to his own growing erection. “Your little brother is just aware enough to know that he is yours. Isn’t that sweet?”

He’d experimented with Jon previously. He could only give up so much blood, and orgasms were a pleasant enough way of transferring fluids.

Peter looked down at Jon. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah!”

Each breathy moan that fell from Jon’s lips made Peter increase his pace, until he stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on Jon’s chest. “Can I touch his tits?”

“Yes,” Elias said. “Of course. He’s yours to play with.” He would have to reward Peter for asking permission eventually. It had taken ages to train that into him.

Peter made a delighted sound and ran his hands up Jon’s stomach and rib cage, grabbing at his breasts with both hands. They were small enough that he covered them completely.

“They’re soft!” he said, delighted. “I think I’m going to like playing with them.” He flicked one of Jon’s nipples with a finger. “Thank you.”

He froze, eyes going wide. Elias smiled. This was his second favorite trick—pulling orgasms out of Peter before he was properly ready.

He came with a mewl, thrusting twice inside Jon before pulling out, leaving his cum to drip from Jon’s hole. Admiring it, he seemed to notice for the first time since he had opened his trousers that his arm was still trickling blood.

“Peter,” Elias said. “You’ve been very good for me.”

Peter sighed, his still-leaking cock resting heavily against his trouser leg. “I hate you,” he said, unable to put any real malice in his tone. “He is so—I never wanted a little brother.” He looked down at the still moaning body beneath him. “Especially not your pet Archivist.”

“You certainly were delighted by him just now,” Elias said.

Peter made a frustrated sound, taking his weight off Jon’s legs. “I’m feeling as much affection for him as I do for you,” he said, a smile crossing his face despite himself as Jon’s body scrambled onto its knees and latched its mouth onto the wound on Peter’s wrist, eyes still shut tightly.

“Excellent,” Elias said.

Peter moaned as Jon’s body began to drink from him. “He’s so pliant,” he said. “I want to leave, but—”

Elias hummed. “I’m sure you do.”

He stood up, finally, and sat himself on the other side of the bed. “How do you feel about fucking Jonny’s other holes?” he asked, surprised both at using the diminutive again and at the corresponding twitch of his cock.

“Good,” Peter said, made soft again. He didn’t even really mind, this time, thoughts slowly growing more addled from Jon’s mouth on his wrist until Jon finally had enough and sat back, careful about the tubing in its arm.

Peter’s eyes widened as Jon’s body settled itself between his legs. Apparently overwhelmed by having his little brother flush against his chest, he sat frozen for a moment before wrapping his arms tightly around Jon’s shoulders.

“This does make him ours now, yeah?” he asked, breathless from forgetting to inhale.

“Yes,” Elias said. “It means you have someone to boss around, if I let you.”

Turning Jon had been, frankly, something Elias had decided to do out of impulse, but the look of pure glee on Peter’s face more than made it worth the effort and blood.

He frowned to himself. That was the sort of thought he was always on the verge of indulging, the sort that he very much wished he could ignore completely.

“Did you hear that, Jonny?” Peter whispered, the affection in his voice making Elias hiss in a sharp breath. “When you wake up, I can do whatever I want.”

“Peter,” Elias said. “You’re getting distracted again.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault. He’s just so…” He trailed off, squeezing Jon’s left tit as though to make a point. “May I bite him?”

“Not yet,” Elias said, and sighed. In his excitement at Peter’s presence, he’d forgotten that Jon’s body wasn’t exactly _producing_ many fluids on its own for the moment. He would have to get up to get proper lubrication if he didn’t want to deal with Jon anally hemorrhaging all the blood he’d transfused. “A moment, lovely.” He didn’t even wince at the nickname, distracted from his thoughts by his task.

“What are you doing?” Peter whined, upset Elias was no longer directly looking at him. It would kill the Lonely bastard to admit it, but his exhibitionist streak had always been there, even before his change, and Elias enjoyed prodding at it.

“Making sure there isn’t too much bleeding,” Elias said. “Do you remember how this works?” He flicked the cap of the lube bottle open.

Peter stared at him, before flushing and shaking his head.

Elias smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

Jon’s body jerked as Elias brought his hand down between its legs, wet fingers pressing up and inside it. The ring of muscle was as tight has Elias had feared, between the lube and his fingers he was able to wring more than a few interesting noises out of Jon’s mouth.

“Interesting,” he said, disappointed Peter was not in a state to appreciate why, but not quite disappointed enough to pull him back out of his head. Even if Jon was not fully transformed, even if he wasn’t quite at Peter’s point of being able to take Elias’s cock whenever his sire felt like it, he was close, closer even than Elias had expect. He might even wake up soon.

Peter shook his head. “You’re done?” he asked, digging a nail into the soft flesh under Jon’s ribs in his frustration.

“Yes,” he said. “Quicker than I had expected.”

Of course, he had spent his first year as a newborn vampire barely more than an interestingly endowed pet for his own Sire, so perhaps he should have expected Jon to take his fingers so easily. Even after more than a century no longer wearing that body, those memories of fullness were some of the most pleasant from that strange time.

Peter smiled, batting Elias’s hands away so he could push his cock inside Jon as far as he could, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his Sire’s.

“Don’t move until I say,” Elias said. Peter stopped, cock half-way back out of Jon’s ass, and frowned, a look of pure concentration on his face.

He took his time, enjoying the frantic wail his first slow thrust caused. He put his hand over where Peter gripped Jon’s waist, enjoying the different between Peter’s rough skin and Jon’s pock-marked scar tissue.

“He’s loud,” Peter muttered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss again the back of Jon’s neck, drawing blood.

Jon let out a startled huff and closed his mouth, the muscles around his eyes abruptly relaxing.

Elias nodded, and Peter matched his pace, keeping it even as Elias sped up his own thrusts.   
“Lazy,” Elias teased, feeling another wave affection force itself way through him for both of them. _His boys_. Sex always did make him maudlin.

Peter purred and leaned his head on Jon’s bony shoulder.

Elias kissed him, swallowing his groan as Jon mewled between them, thighs slick with Peter’s cum and his own wetness.

Peter without Elias’s help, these time, pleasure washing over him as his fingers dug into Jon’s sides, and he went limp, momentarily, before pulling himself out with a wet sound and another mewl from Jon. He flopped bonelessly across the bed, a portrait on the wall catching the image of his fingers playing idly with his softening cock, his other hand on his broad stomach under his still-buttoned shirt. 

Elias brought a hand down to Jon’s pelvis, feeling the bump of his cock under Jon’s skin, pushing down in a way he remembered liking, long ago.

He let himself enjoy the feeling of Jon writhing around his stillness for a long while, keeping his gaze locked on Peter’s face and his hands pressed against Jon’s stomach, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady. 

“When you’re awake,” Elias crooned suddenly, leaning his forehead against Jon’s and breathing in the smell of blood and cum and inhuman sweat. “When you’re awake—” His thoughts stuttered, swept away by skin, and he brought the wrist with the needle to his lips, kissing it softly. “You’ll be even closer to perfect.”

He pulled his still-hard cock out of Jon, more interested in spreading his slick across Jon’s stomach with his thumb than working towards his own orgasm and debating whether to keep Jon propped up or to let him fall back.

“He’ll be awake soon,” he said, releasing Peter from the grip of his subservience.

Peter exhaled, wincing as he sat up. “I still resent that I have aged more than you,” he muttered. “You have a fetish for older men.”

Elias chuckled. “And younger, of course.”

Peter grabbed a tangle of Jon’s hair and dragged him away from Elias in a moment of sudden possessiveness, holding him like a gangly stuffed animal.

Elias’s heart clenched with something worryingly pleasant as he realized that Peter was still taking care not to remove the needle from Jon’s arm.

Looking pointedly at Elias’s cock, Peter asked, “Do you want me to deal with that for you?”

“No.” He grinned at Peter. “I am going to clean up and then go on a hunt.”

Peter straightened from a half-sprawl to sitting up, grip tightening around Jon. “Hunting?” he asked, bright and excited.

“Yes,” Elias said. “Jonny’s going to be hungry when he wakes up, and I don’t want him to drain you dry. You are staying here to watch him.” That diminutive again. He would have to see if it stayed when Jon awoke. He had never thought of Fanshawe in those terms—perhaps that was the reason? It didn’t matter, at least in the moment.

Peter groaned, for the first time not entirely in pleasure. “Another person?” he asked. “Here? I imagine I’m only tolerating this one because you’ve made him my brother. Another person is just a bit much for me.”

Elias’s grin turned upsetting. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I imagine he won’t stay a person for long.”

Peter shivered. “I have been feeling a little hungry…” he said, looking at the streaks of blood on his arm, on Jon’s mouth. “A meal big enough for two?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Make sure he is presentable when I return.” His teeth were very human-looking when he smiled.

Peter watched him clean himself and change clothes, only half-noticing as Jon’s body began to curl up against his chest, going still and unbreathing.


	2. waking lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's awake, and very hungry.
> 
> Peter's... dealing with it.

Jon woke up with a hard cock between his legs. He was mostly very hungry, the slick, oily memories of his time with the Circus of the Other fading under that hunger, under a need that roiled in his gut and made him rut down against that length between his legs unthinkingly.

The arms holding him tightly against a broad chest were too warm, like the breath against the back of his neck and the fingers pressed bruisingly into his bare skin.

“Look who’s awake,” his brother murmured. Jon made a sleepy sound, before freezing. Where had that thought come from? He was, among other things, an only child, and he couldn’t imagine being in this sort of position with a sibling even if he had one.

“What is—?”

He felt a hand clamp tightly over his mouth. “Careful, now,” the man said. “I rather you _not_ compel me.”

Jon had just wanted to ask a question, but his focus narrowed to the hand on his mouth. He tried to bite the fingers, which only made the man tighten his grip.

“I want, very badly, to toy with you, but it seems I am feeling _affection_ , and so I will explain. I am Peter Lukas. We both belong to Elias.”

Jon made a noise. He wasn’t entirely sure what the noise meant, only that he hoped it wasn’t mewling. He knew who Peter was, of course, and from what he knew he should hate that he was apparently sitting naked in the man’s arms. There were a lot, he thought, of emotions he should be feeling.

“Elias will be back soon enough. He has gone hunting, and then you will eat.”

Jon could smell what he recognized immediately as his own blood, as well as—he flushed, closing his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Peter said, blandly. “You can’t escape your new thoughts.” He released his grip slightly, just enough for Jon to move his lips.

“He turned me,” Jon said. “He actually turned me.”

“You don’t seem surprised at the possibility,” Peter said. He nosed at the back of Jon’s head, his other hand trailing down Jon’s ribs in vicious affection.  
Jon sighed. “I was letting him feed from me,” he said. “It was… pleasant.” He had to admit it, now. He couldn’t lie. Not to Peter.

Peter laughed. Jon decided he liked his laugh, even if he was still trying to hate other aspects of the everything that had apparently happened to him.

“He hasn’t explained anything, has he.” He sighed, his breath somehow even warmer than it had been. “I expect he will now. He’s made himself _care_ about you.”

He dropped his hand away from Jon’s mouth.

“I know who you are,” Jon said. “I’ve heard about you.”

“Mm.” Jon felt Peter’s mouth press against the back of his neck, teeth shockingly cold compared to the rest of him. “What matters now is that our sire never did tell you about his first child. I really should feel offended, but it seems I cannot.”

Jon shuddered. “Why are you making everything so incestuous?” The question slipped out without him meaning to. He… knew, now, that his questions were dangerous, in a way he hadn’t wanted to be certain about. He needed to remember more about the circus than just Nikola’s voice and Michael—Helen’s laughter, but he couldn’t, not when Peter was sucking in a shocked little breath that Jon could feel.

He found himself pinned against the bed on his back, seeing Peter for the first time. He looked a wreck, the lower part of his face caked with drying blood, his eyes unblinking in their irritation. He was so shockingly handsome, his weight good in a bone-deep way as he held Jon down.

“Has your god not fed you that knowledge yet?” Peter asked. His laugh was less warm now, teetering between affectionate and despairing. “This is how it works. Elias made us both, and so we are brothers, and we love each other very much.” His mouthed twisted in a sincere smile, and he licked at the blood around Jon’s mouth, moaning. “I told you, no compelling.” There was no bite to it.

“I don’t—” It was getting harder for Jon to think. “I didn’t think that was something I did on purpose.”

“Mm.”

There was so much of him, Jon thought. He just wanted to curl up against his chest, or ask him to take the weight off his arms and just lie on top of Jon. Instead, he said, “You fucked me while I was unconscious.” He should have been embarrassed—horrified, even, that wasn’t something he _liked_ —and instead he felt _safe_. Claimed, or marked; _loved_ , even, as instinctually as his need to breathe had once been.

“Yes,” Peter said, inhaling only when he remembered he needed air to speak. “I was so delighted to know I had you to play with.” He rolled them, so that Jon was now pressed against Peter’s side, looking at his neck. His skin looked soft, and Jon was very aware of his teeth. “I tried to kill him, when I woke up.”

“Elias.”

Peter shook his head but didn’t elaborate. “I thought that I could still feel _anger_ at him.”

“I…” Jon frowned. “I love you.”

“I know,” Peter said. “You get used to it.”

Jon moaned. He was so hungry, and some of the buttons of Peter’s shirt had come undone, exposing his collarbone, the top of his chest. Jon didn’t know if he wanted to pet the hair there or bite his throat or rub his cheek against it. He could feel his instincts reordering themselves, alien priorities organizing themselves into familiar impulses.

He crawled on all fours so that he was on top of Peter, knees digging into the flesh of his brother’s thighs, staring at the column of his throat. He could hear—or sense, through his hands fisting in Peter’s shirt—his heartless blood flow, smell it on Peter’s arm, more intense than what remained of Elias’s blood in the glass bottle.

He couldn’t tell if his spine had always moved like this, feeling Peter’s cock rub against his stomach as he bit down just above the collarbone. There would be no point to seeking an artery.

His teeth were sharper than he remembered them, but he was too distracted by the taste of sweat to think about biting, at first, his mouth full of salt. He was—he hoped—afraid of what Peter’s blood would taste like. It wouldn’t be like surreptitiously licking up blood from cuts and scrapes. It would be intentional.

“Jonny,” Peter whispered, the diminutive settling itself oddly in Jon’s chest. “What are you waiting for?”

Jon made a noise he could barely recognize as his own and sank his top teeth into Peter’s flesh. Blood flowed sluggishly into his mouth, coating his tongue.

He liked it. He liked Peter’s blood in his mouth very much, even more than the taste of his skin or the smell of blood from earlier. It was iron and salt, like pudding. He liked the taste a lot, thick and clotting against the backs of his teeth.

“There you go,” Peter crooned, as Jon continued to drink. His hand was gentle in Jon’s hair, his skin soft against Jon’s face.

Jon pulled away to swallow when his mouth was filled to almost choking, the motion automatic, instinctual, heat following the blood down his throat and radiating outward, making his head feel as though it was filled with light. Peter was so warm, even through his clothes, and Jon could think of nothing else except him—his blood—inside him.

He flicked his tongue against the wound, lapping up the blood that had trickled onto Peter’s skin. He filled his mouth more quickly the second time he sealed his lips over the cut, digging his bottom teeth in as well. If he ripped out a chunk of flesh, could he dig his tongue into the wound, increasing the flow of blood? What would Peter’s flesh taste like, hot, too hot, compared to Jon’s?

Jon was pulled away before his could close his jaw and _tear_ , red flowing down his chin and dribbling onto his neck.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter said, and Jon found himself throbbing with embarrassment. What was he thinking? That wasn’t how he was supposed to drink from his family—that’s how you drank from _food_.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gaze locked on the crescent shaped wound and the blood still slowly welling from it.

“You have to be patient,” Peter said. “Our sire is coming back with food eventually.”

He sat up, sending Jon toppling.

“He is?” Jon asked, embarrassment forgotten in his excitement, barely noticing as Peter untangled their legs and stood, leaving Jon lying alone on the bed. Food, real food, with a heartbeat and a pulse he could press his fingers into and violate.

He brought his hand down between his legs. He was getting sticky, his brother’s and Elias’s cum drying where it wasn’t still inside him.

He stopped trying to rub at his cock when Peter grabbed his wrist. “No,” Peter said. He seemed extremely pleased with himself, as though he’d remembered something important. “I need to clean you up. Get you dressed, too.” He pulled Jon to his feet, stepping back to watch him.

Jon’s head cleared, and he was suddenly hyperaware that he was nude, covered in various fluids, and that he apparently wanted most in the world to either take Peter Lukas’s still half-hard penis in his mouth, or sink his teeth into the soft part of his wrist.

“I—” he took a step back, bracing himself against the bed. He felt paralyzed, even as Lukas’s gaze slid off him and towards a portrait on the wall.

“There we go,” Peter—Lukas—said, a smirk crawling across his face. “I knew you were taking this too well. Doesn’t it feel wonderful?” The expression flattened into blankness. “I want to torture you so badly, you know. Revel in how betrayed you must feel, but—” He rubbed at his neck. “That felt good.” He grimaced, presumably in pain. “I do have to clean you up and trust me when I say you’ll feel a lot better if you let yourself get used to it. Not that you can _feel_ —”

“Shut up,” Jon said. “I’m assuming—” He sighed. “I know there is an attached bathroom, I’m just going to—” Shower. He desperately wanted a shower, if only so he could drench himself in cold water.

“Do you think I _want_ to spend however much time it will take touching you?” Peter’s sudden flare of apparently genuine anger was enough to shock Jon out of his own humiliation. “My god cannot take my need to show you _affection_ and I am not even able to hate you for it.” His expression softened, momentarily, before he forced it back into something like rage. “Ask questions, if it will make you feel better. It seems I am to be flayed open either way.”

Jon ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, falling into an old defense tactic. He was, objectively speaking, the least at fault of the two (three?) of them but he wanted Peter to feel better. He wanted this man, whom he had just met, naked and covered in blood, to feel less bad about _having_ to touch him against his will.

Peter shook his head. “Your guilt, while delicious, is also useless.” He smiled. “I’ll let you take the bigger share of our prey?” He had the cadence of one of Jon’s uni friends needling him into going drinking with them.

Jon sighed. “That shouldn’t be so convincing.” He leaned into Peter as the larger man slung an arm around his shoulder, walking him towards the bathroom.

The water was not as warm as Peter’s skin as Jon let himself be placed into the tub. He was not surprised that Peter could physically carry him, and he gave himself permission to enjoy the intimacy of the act.

“You can lie back,” Peter said. He pushed his cock inelegantly back inside his pants, washing his hands in the sink on the other side of the bathroom, letting the tub fill around Jon. “Relax, even.”

“I can’t,” Jon said. There was already enough to process—he was trying desperately not to think about how much he was looking forward to whatever Elias was bringing home—but he was tempted. The tub was big enough to lie in comfortably, and he liked the feeling of warm water filling in around his body.

“You can’t fight it,” Peter said. He sat on the edge of the tub, very carefully watching a spot above Jon’s head.

“You don’t—”

“I’m not being metaphorical.” Peter said. He seemed angry again, like Jon wasn’t getting something. He probably—definitely—wasn’t, but… no. Jon understood. He had to.

Jon sighed and lay back in the tub. “Does the affection ebb?” he asked. It was distracting, tinged with sexuality in a way that was new and forcibly pleasant.

“No,” Peter said. He handed Jon a bar of soap that smelled meticulously unscented. “You should probably wash between your legs, first.”

Right, Jon thought, scrubbing absently at the dried blood and cum that was already sloughing off in the water. “I remember some of it, I think,” he said. “Mostly that it felt good.”

“You really like drinking from me,” Peter said. “Even when you’re just a body.”

Jon nodded. “Does that ever get less intense?” he asked.

“It won’t drop you again if that’s what you’re asking.” He pulled off his shirt, exposing chest hair and how… _much_ there was of him, even in an undershirt that was also soon discarded. “That’s something I—or Elias—chooses.” His trousers, next, and his pants. “Scoot forward.”

He settled behind Jon and like before, on the bed, wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders, large hands resting idly on his ribs.

“You’re warmer than the water,” Jon said, as Peter took the soap from him. Peter dragged his fingers, covered in suds, across his jaw, making him lean his head back into Peter’s neck. That was where all the blood was, around his mouth, down his neck and some speckling his chest, easier to explain that that between his legs.

Peter sighed and shifted his other arm so he could press Jon more tightly against him. He had cleaned Jon’s face of blood, was now just trying to clear the soap.

He kissed Jon’s hair and Jon felt something melt in him, making him cross his arms over Peter’s. “You’re not trying to have sex with me,” he said, genuinely surprised and surprised at his relief.

Peter started. “Why would I?” he asked. “That would make you harder to clean.”

“I just thought—”

“I’m being intimate,” Peter said, kissing a different part of his hair. “We’re both naked.” It was a better explanation than Jon had expected.

“Oh.”

It didn’t take too long, all told, even with the both of them getting distracted at points at all the skin touching. Jon drifted, a little, when Peter washed his hair, feeler safer and more content than he had in years. He didn’t have space in his head for guilt, anymore, not with Peter’s fingers on his scalp smelling like fancy shampoo.

When he was done, Peter kissed the spot-on Jon’s arm where the needle had been and pushed him forward enough for him to stand. “Let’s get you presentable,” he said, and helped Jon out of the bath, which he set to drain. “I’ll let you choose what skirt.”

That, Jon knew immediately, was only a vampire thing insofar as it was Elias’s preference, something he had even potentially picked up from _his_ sire. He knew more about Elias than he knew what to do with, now, and he would think about it later, when he was less hungry.

“Was this another thing you tried to kill him over?” he asked, letting himself be toweled off and guided to a closet.

“No, actually,” Peter said. “I liked the clothes he picked for me.”

Dressed, or as close to dressed as a skirt to his knees and a strangely flimsy white shirt counted as dressed, Jon curled back onto the bed to wait. He had lost much of his earlier frenzy after feeding and a bath, and he was content to keep his face pressed against Peter’s neck.


	3. first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew just wanted to have a threesome. 
> 
> Too bad.
> 
> (Poor lad gets dehumanized.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the corpse eating comes up, and the necrophilia. All other tagged warnings still apply.

Drew had arrived expecting a threesome. The older man was hot, and he’d shown him a photo (a physical photo, in a wallet, which was more than charming) of his boyfriend, a bear-looking guy with greying hair.

“I’m older than him,” he’d said, like he was sharing a joke. “Just better preserved.”

He had laughed.

The older man’s house was large, in a wealthy part of London. He’d said he was an academic—one of the rich ones, then, or his boyfriend was rich—and he had the feeling that he would get lost in the house if he stepped away from his guide.

“The room is on the third floor,” the older man said, ignoring the portraits and photographs lining the halls—all analogue prints or paintings—that were starting to creep Drew out. “It should not take too long.”

Drew was a big guy—that was a lot of his appeal, and he knew it—and he tried not to let himself be frightened by the portraits, by the twinkish older man he’d let pick him up. He could overpower him easily and flee. It wasn’t that hard to follow a hallway down a tightly winding flight of steps, and he could follow the portraits, which were absolutely not watching them. Some of them did not have eyes, were just black and white cut-out silhouettes. Those made him feel better when he looked at them, even if it proved that the older man’s tastes outside of the bedroom were not similar to Drew’s at all. 

The older man pushed open the door to his room with a flourish, a fond expression creasing his face as he looked at the bed, which only did not dominate the room because the walls were lined with bookshelves, barring a brief space carved out for a desk.

Two men—one more than Drew had anticipated—were lying on the unmade bed, one curled up against the others’ chest. The smaller one looked oddly thin and was wearing a skirt. The other—the bear from the photograph—was fully dressed, which Drew hadn’t expected.

“You said this was a threesome,” Drew said, turning to the older man, who had shut the door behind the two of them.

The older man—he’d given the name Elias, Drew remembered—smiled. “I did, yes.” He cleared his throat pointedly, and the two figures on the bed stirred, both sitting up in the same motion. Their movement drew Drew’s gaze to the red stains on the rumpled sheet, to a red-tinged glass bottle on a pole by the head of the bed.

“It looks like Martin,” the one in the skirt said. “Did you do that on purpose?”

His eyes were glowing a dull green.

Elias laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Do you like him?” He put more emphasis on the pronoun than Drew liked. He didn’t know that the gender of it was the joke, one that made the one in the skirt smile thinly.

“I’m out,” Drew said. He made for the door, was stopped by Elias’s hand on the small of his back. He was stronger than Drew expected.

“Are you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Drew said. “I didn’t sign up for some creepy roleplay shit.”

“Oh,” Elias said, his smile quite pleasant. “I hope they don’t play with you too much. That would be wasteful.” He looked over at the two men on the bed and sighed. “Do I have to do everything myself?” His tone was playful, fond, and Drew wanted to break his grip and flee but he knew, somehow, that he would never escape his gaze, and that sapped the will from him.

“I just want to watch,” the one in the skirt said, and the bear laughed.

“Of course,” Elias said. He took one of Drew’s hands in his, turning it palm up. He brought his wrist to his mouth and bit, sending a shockwave of pleasure up Drew’s arm. “Now,” he told Drew, who found it increasingly difficult to think. “Let’s join them, shall we?”

Drew nodded. He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Jon could not stop thinking about the man’s—the food’s? he was having difficulty figuring out the right language for the situation—similarity to Martin. He would never eat—kill—Martin, of course, but the imagined possibility still left him breathless. Metaphorically.

“Do you mean Blackwood?” Peter asked, as Elias guided it towards them.

Jon nodded. “Elias told you.”

“Elias enjoys talking about his work.”

Peter pushed himself into a sitting position. “Hair’s too short,” he complained at Elias. “Not very good for grabbing.”

Elias sat the man on the bed, coaxing it into pulling off its shirt. It had a sleepy expression on its face, and Jon could smell blood from where Elias had bitten as he pulled off the rest of its clothes, leaving Jon’s gaze to be drawn to its soft cock.

Peter chuckled. “You have a type,” he said. He was addressing Elias, but still Jon made a soft noise of protest.

“Elias chose it,” he said, making Peter’s point. He looked over at his sire. “Please, let it be inside me when I eat?” He felt strangely empty, his body remember having Peter inside him. It wasn’t as big as Peter, but it would do for now.

“Of course,” Elias said. “Peter?”

Peter nodded, distracted, and grabbing it by the shoulders, hauled it backwards on the bed so that it was sitting between his legs. He dug his nails under its left shoulder blade, drawing blood, smiling faintly as it whimpered in confused pain.

“Jon,” he asked. “Has our sire dragged you under?”

Jon shook his head. Elias had retreated to a chair with a view of the bed, and Jon couldn’t feel him against his thoughts as he had felt Peter upon waking. He crawled over to Peter and sat in his food’s lap, suddenly grateful for the skirt. There was nothing between his cunt and its cock, and he sighed contently as it filled him.

Peter bit into its shoulder. It spasmed, driving its cock up into Jon.

“Do they always do that?” he asked, making himself inhale so he could speak. He put a hand under its collar bone, briefly considering biting into its chest, over the heart.

“It won’t work,” Peter said, answering his other, unspoken question. “You can’t split its rib cage just with your mouth.” He went back to chewing on its shoulder, pulling a strip of flesh off its back.

Jon’s gaze shifted to its pulse, hammering quick and rabbitlike in its neck despite its stupor. Licking his lips, he remembered how he had nearly torn a chunk out of Peter’s flesh. This wasn’t family.

Wrapping his arms around its shoulders so that he could touch as much of Peter as possible, he tore at its neck with his teeth.

Blood spurted from the wound, and it panicked, reduced to making little wheezing noises as Jon began to lap at the blood that flowed down its throat and onto its chest.

Peter stopped his eating to laugh, dragging his hand down its raw flesh to feel the muscles twitch under it. “You’ve been too enthusiastic, little brother,” he said. He found a spot under its shoulder and sank a finger into the wound there. “That’s not fun at all.”

“Elias did say we should be efficient,” Jon said when he had swallowed his latest mouthful, feeling slightly hysterical. Its cock was softening inside him and he was unreasonably mad it for that, despite knowing this was definitely his fault.

“That is _not_ what I meant, Jonathan,” Elias said. “And you know it.”

His voice seemed to startle it back into realizing he was there. Extricating itself slightly from Jon, who used the opportunity to roll off it onto his side and thereby stain the sheets further red, it used its remaining strength to plead wordlessly to Elias.

“Have you forgotten who brought you here?” Elias asked. He shifted positions, slightly, intentionally telegraphing physical arousal. It screwed its eyes shut in pathetic desperation. “Jon, you have to finish your meal even if you’ve made a mess of it.”

Jon laughed. “Ah—yes, sir,” he said. He wanted to take in as much as he could before its heart stopped beating. He liked how soft its stomach was under his hands as he lapped at its blood, before giving up on getting every last drop and just sealing his mouth to the wound in its neck.

He felt hands grip his hair, and he nearly complained until he realized it was Elias. Sighing, he let him be pulled back, his sire’s mouth finding his.

As its body went soft and dead, Peter pushed the corpse forward, onto its stomach. Still eating, apparently even more ravenous than Jon, he suddenly froze, eyes wide and fixed on Elias.

“ _James_ ,” he gasped, and thrust once against the corpse’s leg.

“That was rude,” Jon said. “You didn’t even let him take his trousers off.”

Peter lay himself down next to the body, watching Elias lap at the blood covering Jon’s face and chest.

“He can’t take it all for himself. Come now, eat your fill before it gets cold.”

“Do we sleep?” Jon asked when he was done, his thoughts still smooth and confined from Elias’s influence. He did not feel tired, merely sated in a way he had not felt in years. The gnawing hunger to know and feed and fill himself, hunger he finally understood, was not completely gone, but he could rest.

Peter muttered something unintelligible and pulled Jon’s head against his chest.

“No,” Elias said. “But you may rest if you wish. You have done well.”

He would deal with the body, leaving his children to spend time together.

Peter stirred when the feeling of drying come in his pants grew too much to bear.

“I imagine he’ll use some kind of base,” Jon was muttering, mostly too himself. “But what about people who saw him with it wherever he picked it up?”

“They’ll assume it was a sex thing gone wrong and won’t want to deal with it, if they think about it at all,” Peter said. “In any case, Elias is at work.”

“Ah,” Jon said. “Yes.”

Peter kissed him, enjoying as his surprise melted into reciprocation.

“Your tongue is wet,” Peter remarked.

Jon stared at him as though he were the one with the potential to grow extra eyes. “What.”

“Your tongue is wetter than a human’s, I think. Longer, too. It should feel… interesting… to your victims.”

“I’m not—” Jon started. He frowned. “You’re not expecting me to go hunting on my own and kill people, are you?”

“Not immediately, of course,” Peter said. “I’ll be going with you, at first, I imagine.” He pushed a flyaway strand of Jon’s hair behind his ear. “And, you will have to go back to work, meaning you’ll have food for your other hunger.”

Jon felt as though the startled laugh was pulled out of him. “Ah—yes. I suppose I do have a job. How… how long have I been out?”

“Only a few weeks,” Peter said. “Elias is so territorial, you know. You wouldn’t expect it, given how he behaves in front of people, but I believe he hasn’t left your side as much as possible since he first stuck that tube in your arm.” He chuckled. “Imagine my surprise when I came home to find a little brother lying stretched out and unconscious on our bed.”

“I… the thing that calls itself Helen now. I think it saved me. Why didn’t… why didn’t Elias save me?”

“He’s worried about your development,” Peter said. “I, meanwhile, don’t particularly care, so I’m being helpful.” He raised an eyebrow. “You poor thing, you barely know what you are.”

Jon bristled. “I… I’m obviously a _vampire_ now,” he said. “The… person eating… gives that one away.”

“Well, yes, but blood will never keep you fully satisfied. It never does, in our family.” At Jon’s confusion, Peter looked genuinely surprised and burst into delighted laughter. “Oh, Elias, _Elias_ , you utter paranoiac. Jon, you were eating people long before today.”

“What?” Peter watched the expressions flick across his face before he eventually settled on distress. “The statements? The— Oh.” He buried his face in his hands, adorable in his embarrassment and his bloodied white shirt. “I don’t want to get used to not feeling bad about all these revelations.”

Peter pushed himself off the bed, stretching loudly.

“Have fun with your existential crisis, I’m going to go clean off. There should be more clothes in that closet, it seems Elias actually planned this one out a little.”

The implied _unlike mine_ went unspoken.

Jon watched him leave, feeling a little put out by his last comment. It was completely reasonable for him to have an existential crisis—turning into a vampire was supposed to be a _shedding_ of humanity, not an inhuman multiclass! And Peter’s glib sharing, his bland honesty about what Jon was, the fact that he apparently knew more about what the position of Archivist had made him, all combined into the miserable certainty that Jon was for the first time no longer out of his depth.

He was, despite his irritation, happy, or at least something like it. His self-awareness that the throat-filling affection he felt for Peter and his Sire was an artifact of his new state did not diminish it. His gaze wandered to the portrait above the door. That was Richard Mendelssohn, then, his mind supplied. Not as handsome as the current shape.

“I was lucky with Mr. Bouchard,” Elias said as he pushed open the door. Jon smiled at him—at the portrait—and did not sit up. “With Richard I believe my only goal was to gain a few inches.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Jon asked, unable to pick what exactly should finish the question. He sat up, not bothering to keep his legs closed despite the skirt.

“Eventually.” Elias sighed, and settled himself on the same chair as before, pulling a half-read book off a nearby table. “I underestimated myself,” he said, painfully, like a confession. “Your time with the Circus was necessary, but when that which calls itself Helen dropped you practically in my lap, I found myself overtaken by _possessiveness_.” He looked almost embarrassed, an expression Jon found profoundly unnerving coming from him. “I should not have fed from you so frequently.”

“I wanted it,” Jon said, firmly, unwilling to cede that particular decision to either Elias’s sudden doubts or the Eye. “It was me or someone else.”

“Your pain is not somehow worthier than that of another,” Elias said, mildly. “I hate to tell you this, Jon, but you are immortal now, and I can guarantee there are two people who will care about you above all else for the rest of your life.”

“Right,” Jon said. “Will I have to take a new body eventually?”

Elias let out a shocked little burst of laughter. “Peter never asked that,” he said. “No, no, your body is less—” Elias looked down at himself with an amused expression on his face. “Fragile.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like a different configuration of parts?”

“Give me a century,” Jon muttered. “What did you use?”

“Oh, I used drain cleaner. No reason to reinvent the wheel.”

Jon had a sudden, vivid mental picture of dark goo swirling down an industrial sink in the basement.

“You went to a _bar_ ,” Jon said. This was, he decided, the funniest thing in the world.

“Well, yes,” Elias said. “I am attractive, after all. Did you expect me to kidnap some poor sod off the street?”

Jon looked over at Elias. He was just sitting there, reading, and not paying any _physical_ attention to him. New instincts firing off contradictory signals in his head, Jon decided that just wouldn’t do at all.

Rolling himself off the bed with a thump, he crouch-crawled on all fours to Elias’s, bumping his head against his sire’s knee.

“Oh, hello,” Elias. “You’re bored, aren’t you, with nothing to sink your teeth into?”

Jon narrowed his eyes; Elias was making fun of him, definitely, but he was _right_ and that made it better, somehow. He bumped his forehead against Elias’s knee again and pressed his teeth against the inside of his thigh.

He tried, sort of, to undo his trousers, but that turned out to require a greater ability to stay on task that he could bother with, in that moment, so he settled on mouthing vaguely at Elias’s crotch. Maybe his teeth were sharp enough to tear through the fabric? They had certainly been sharp enough to rip skin. He would have to be more careful next time, so it would not die so quickly.

“Jon,” Elias said. “You have to be careful where you put your teeth.” There was a hitch to his voice, not helped when Jon pressed his nose against Elias’s hardening prick.

Jon ignored him. He was enjoying himself, and Elias hadn’t said anything that sounded exactly like an order. That left him free to play, and he took advantage of that freedom by biting down on Elias’s still-clothed thigh.

Elias chuckled. “Jon,” he said, the way he said the name sending something hot and shivery through him. Jon found himself unable to respond as Elias pressed a finger between his lips. “You’re so greedy for attention.” He sounded, as ever, pleased with himself.

“That’s what the Eye is, yes?” Peter asked, not bothering to shut the door to the bathroom behind him. “A greedy, grasping mouth?”

Jon meant to protest—that was not right at all—but that would have required him to stop chewing absently at the now two digits in his mouth. He was proud of himself. He had only drawn a little blood, and he even had some idea of the shape of his teeth.

“We are all hungry, Peter,” Elias said. “Do you have the energy to entertain our dear boy, or have you grown too old?”

“There’s only room in front of that chair for one,” Peter said. “I’m going.” He was dressed in something like the clothes he had arrived in.

“Are you?” It was the sort of question that usually presaged Peter’s head going soft and him falling forward onto his knees in front of his sire, but for once there was none of that push. “I suppose you weren’t exactly in the best position to appreciate what it means to have a fledgling in the house.”

Peter stared at Elias wordlessly. He had been younger than Jon was when James turned him. His first three months awake were a haze of bloodlust and rage, even with his Sire’s mental hold on him. Jon was, quite obviously, not like that.

As though to prove his point, the fledgling in question sighed contently and turned his eyes to Peter. His gaze, even out of the side of his eyes, forced a surge of affection through Peter’s body.

“What are you getting at?” Peter asked.

Elias showed Peter his free hand, his nails sharp and claw-like, and smiled. “Rapid healing is so fun to play with,” he said, around his teeth. “Wouldn’t you agree?” He pulled his fingers out of Jon’s mouth and lay them gently on his throat. Staring at Peter, he said. “Let’s play, _properly_ , now that he’s fed and changed a little more.”

**Author's Note:**

> You better believe there is more where this came from. I have spreadsheets for this AU. Please comment!
> 
> Hopefully by the time this is posted the entire fic will be finished. Fingers crossed!


End file.
